not be almost as active as
you have ever been; and as to journeys, unless this accident has made a
coward of you, which I do not believe, you seem to me just as able to
take them as ever. If not, it is no difficult matter to procure a
traveller. Depend upon it, your father will spare himself for his
children's sake. So you see business may go on as well as ever. Now
for pleasure. Do you keep a horse?"

"No, but I mean to do it now; that is no difficulty. There is one more,
which I am almost ashamed to mention; but I will. I never could bear to
be conspicuous, to be unlike other people, to attract notice; in short,
to be stared at."

"Do not be ashamed of feeling that," said Charles: "in my opinion, this
is the worst evil of all."

"Is it, really?" said Monteath. "Worse than having one's usefulness and
independence impaired?"

"No," replied Charles. "But I see no reason why your usefulness and
independence should be impaired. If you had lost an arm, the case would
have been different: but art affords such helps in your case, that it is
only on occasions of extraordinary danger that you would not be able to
exert yourself as well as ever."

"I hope you are right," replied Monteath. "You think, then, that I am
not wrong to dread being made an object of curiosity for the first time
in my life?"

"I do not wonder at it, certainly," said Charles: "but, remember, it
will be only a temporary inconvenience: your acquaintance will soon get
accustomed to the sight of you; and, if you will condescend to take
pains at first with your manner of walking, there will be nothing
remarkable in your appearance. I conclude you will throw aside your
crutches as soon as you can?"

"Of course," replied Monteath. "You will see me in London for that
purpose as soon as I am allowed to go. Now do you think me weak for
dwelling on these trifles, as some people call them?"

"Trifles they are not," said Charles: "and therefore it is any thing but
weakness to bring them out, to face them, and make up your mind how they
are to be met. In my opinion, a great deal of mischief is done by
calling these things trifles, and putting them out of sight as fast as
possible, instead of affording that help to those who suffer under them
which is largely dispensed on occasions which have not nearly so great
an effect on happiness."

"That is exactly what I have often thought lately," said Monteath. "In
how many books, where the loss of f